


going under

by Larrant



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dark, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Translation Available, the tags are misleading (but so is mr. robot), Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:24:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrant/pseuds/Larrant
Summary: There are soulmates, there are stories of them, and Elliot has long since forgotten about the ‘Tyrell’ written over his wrist. There's something ironic about that, somewhere.(there's a story, but it's not a story anyone will ever know)11/02/17 :: russian translation now available by Crazy_cake





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Погружаясь](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683357) by [Crazy_cake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_cake/pseuds/Crazy_cake)
  * Translation into Español available: [Going Under (Traducción)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12608668) by [Larrant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrant/pseuds/Larrant), [Tyrelliot (SlashShips)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashShips/pseuds/Tyrelliot)



 

 

 

The skyline is gray, murky with clouds and cold. Elliot can see it reflected in the dark of his monitor, alongside the shadow of the man who stops beside him.

He looks up, eyes meeting the gaze of the blonde haired man looking at him.

“Tyrell Wellick.” The man says, unperturbed by the moment of silence, and Elliot almost- _almost_ blinks. He waits for his mind to catch up, waits for that _something_ to click. Surprisingly, it does.

Tyrell.

(he’s never met anybody with that name before, not until now)

“Elliot.” Elliot says, and almost reaches to tap his employee badge before realizing he isn’t in the customer services department and doesn’t have one.

There’s a prickling sensation on his skin, maybe under it, and he swallows, decides to ignore it.

“Just a tech.” Elliot finishes, and thinks without looking away that Tyrell Wellick must be dressed in a suit more expensive than his month’s wages. It’s unnerving, how the man still doesn’t look away.

 _Tyrell_ , he thinks again, and this time it isn’t just his skin prickling, there’s an itch under his wristband, suddenly unbearable when he thinks about it- it takes too much willpower to stay still, to ignore the feeling.

And then.

 _Tyrell Wellick_. His mind seems to loop over on that one, replaying the two words in the same voice the man had when he’d spoken, the lilt of an accent that didn’t seem American at all.

The man has blue eyes- he _looks_ foreign, German, maybe? Elliot’s never paid much attention to what people looked like, and his suit is more expensive than Elliot’s monthly wage and- well. Elliot has never seen anyone with such blue eyes, he doesn’t understand why but he can’t pull his gaze away.

(and still the skin under his wristband itches, and his fingers twitch as he stops himself from reaching to scratch at it)

Tyrell smiles (does he sense that?), and his eyes flicker beyond Elliot to look at his monitor. He says something about Linux, something about operating systems, and then his eyes are on Elliot again, bright blue and piercing.

By the time the man leaves, the itch is already gone.

(there’s still something there, something underneath, but he can’t detect what)

That night, he goes back to his apartment. His fingers find the keys of his keyboard, and his mind clears.

Yes, this is how to assuage his curiousity. The webpage loads, a facebook profile shows up at the top, and he clicks it without further thought.

This is fine, he’ll never see Tyrell Wellick again, and this is fine.

He doesn’t know what he expects to find. A disclaimer though: he doesn’t quite expect the staggering amount of normal, mundane, _normalcy_.

Tyrell Wellick has a LinkedIn account, he has a facebook, he has some social media. He has enough social media to be a member of the generation who uses it for business and little more. His facebook is pictures of him and his wife- smiling at the camera brightly on holiday somewhere on some beach. Probably in France.

He delves a little deeper, searches a little more. Nothing. Not just the lack of anything scandalous, it's the lack of _personality_.

Elliot looks at the pictures, scrolls down and down and down, until he is at the bottom and there is nothing else, and then with a frown he tabs off the page.

The end-result, hours later: Tyrell Wellick is normal. Absolutely, utterly, and completely _mundane._ And Elliot doesn't understand.

There had been something there, when they met- something that had made Elliot unable to take his eyes off the man- he was sure of it, but now he looked, and nothing of that feeling came through in the person captured in those pictures. He seemed normal in all of them, a normal person, a normal family.

Elliot realizes that the man’s eyes are not nearly as blue as how they appear in real life. They are duller here, mundane and without any sense of vibrance.

His wrist itches again, underneath the band, and he scratches at the thing almost absentmindedly, a frown settling over his features as he shakes his head and logs out.

(blue eyes, and the colour of Tyrell’s eyes had been brighter than the sky)

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Tyrell Wellick._

_He could find a use for him._

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Elliot was a teenager, he’d had a friend. Or well, not a friend, not exactly. Somebody he hung out with, sometimes. One of the only people who hung out with him, really. The others always thought he was too weird, too strange- but he was quiet and kept himself to himself, so he didn't get bullied (as) much as other people- not like Joe in his class, who had thin hair and was small and scrawny and a bit like Elliot, except he tried harder and was conversely punished for it.

But back to his friend. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and he smiled all the time- that's what Elliot remembers- and his name was Jack.

Sometimes, when Darlene took Elliot's lunch money for cigarettes, Jack would buy him lunch. They'd talk, mostly it would be Jack talking and Elliot listening, and then sometimes when they needed to work on group projects together and nobody else picked Elliot, Jack would.

He thinks they had been best friends, now he thinks back on it. At the time, he hadn’t really thought much about it at all. Hadn’t realized he should’ve at least thought a little about it.

He remembers how Jack had pulled him out for a night out once, and his mother had said nothing and let him, and when they were both drunk Jack had pulled him against the alley wall and kissed him, long and slow and his tongue had felt odd in Elliot's mouth, a wet muscle probing his teeth that was rather _strange_ , all things considered. Not that he’d said anything at the time, because he was too shocked to say anything- or really think about anything, other than the fact that this was, well, happening.

He remembers being unsure of what to do, remembers standing stock still and not moving, wondering what he was _meant_ to do, because he didn't know that either.

And then when Jack explains it to him (Elliot’s still not sure to this day how Jack hadn’t gotten impatient by then), Elliot says, "Oh," and it's rather strange still, but he nods all the same.

He hadn't actually _thought_ about having sex with anyone other than a woman at that time- like in those porno magazines that he knew his dad kept in the third dresser on the left in his room- so he figured it must be simple. It was odd, but. Hell.

He doesn’t think about much, doesn’t think about trying to please Jack, doesn’t think about pleasure, and when his eyes hit a bug that’s crawling next to him on the wall, directionless, going in circles on itself, his gaze pulls to it until it falls somewhere, maybe to the ground.

So they had sex.

And... well, they had sex, period.

Jack sighs at him afterwards, "Let's not do that again then, yeah." Because he seems to catch on that Elliot had mostly just been oblivious to the experience, and when he smiles it might just be a little bit painful. Elliot is relieved when nothing seems to change between them at school, and Jack, true to his word, doesn't take Elliot out drinking again.

In their last year, Jack finds _them_ \- his soulmate- and they had been a she and she had smiled at Elliot brightly when Jack introduced them, and Elliot had nodded and waved and been just a little bit envious, just a little, and hadn't known what to say. And then school was over, and they hadn't really kept in contact after that.

And there's really no punchline to the tale, or any special part of it really, but it's one of the more memorable things that Elliot remembers. When people ask him about any relationships he’s been in, he mostly just thinks of that one, even if it hadn’t really been a relationship.

It counts, he thinks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _Here’s a bit of trivia for you: something about names and naming and how important a name_ **_is_** _._

_But names always held power, in some sense of other. In the myths of the forest and the dark, murmurs of something beyond, your true name was something that could kill you._

_(in some myths, your true name was something that could free you)_

_This is reality, this is real life (this is only a version of it, but you’ll never know), and your name is what ties to you to someone else out there in the universe._

_But what of those who were never named? A name is something you’re given. You don’t choose your name, you’re born into it._

_If you start thinking about it that way, then he’s never really had a name. He was created, never born. That person never gave him a name. But all the same, everything needs a name._

_(so he calls himself from memory, because the memories of_ **_that place_ ** _are still bitter and cold in his mind, and in the end it will be the catalyst for everything which will come)_

_(but that isn’t a name, that isn’t a name at all)_

_(so, here’s the question- what is his name?)_

 

* * *

 

“I know you framed Terry Colby,” Tyrell Wellick says without preamble, blue eyes colder than ice and Elliot’s heart stutters to a halt.

“I didn’t,” he denies, stumbles over the words- his emotions are too open, he knows that, his eyes too wide, the tone of his voice too unsure. He cannot help it, it’s not something he does on purpose. It’s not something he’d do if he could stop it.

Tyrell continues to speak, as if he has not heard, as if he is _chastising_ Elliot somehow. As if he is disappointed. Elliot can feel it, the disappointment. He can’t really hear anything else apart from it, feels it digging deep and even if it doesn’t mean anything it stings.

 _Ordinary_ , he hears, and that’s fine, that’s what he wants to be- but it’s an insult, coming from Tyrell Wellick.

He only remembers to be confused afterwards, only remembers how to be bewildered by Tyrell Wellick after the man is long gone. It’s at the same time when he wonders, if Tyrell Wellick really _is_ his soulmate- that it’s the only explanation for all of this.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _"Aren't you forgetting that I know your dirty little secret?" The man snarls, and really, he's almost funny. His eyes are wide, he looks so panicked- he tries so hard to be in control, and yet every part of him is about to crack, something underneath the surface that jumps and twists and_ **_burns_** _. The very nature of Tyrell Wellick is something volatile, something ready to burst underneath the skin._

_It would be cute, if it wasn’t getting on his nerves._

_But it might not be wise to up and leave just yet. So he sits back in his seat with a thump and looks at Tyrell, the man who just might be tied to him by fate, but right now looks like a pathetic little shit all the same._

_"We're both too smart to allow pettiness to dictate our actions," he tells him patiently, and wonders if he's overstating Tyrell’s smartness in this case._

_But the man is easy to read, and his expressions are so openly displayed- he knows how to lead Tyrell on, and this is the way to do it._

_After he leaves he visits the newsagent, buys a stick of gum, and then wonders as an afterthought if Tyrell has figured it out yet. He probably has, might just be waiting for a sign- although if there haven’t been enough signs already he’ll be damned._

_It would probably be easier for one of them to just say. Not that either of them will._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Here’s the thing. The major thing. The big thing. The thing that goes against all of Elliot’s expectations and makes him wonder about fate and about well- if it _is_ fate, why isn’t Tyrell _saying_ anything about it?

Because Tyrell Wellick starts popping up. Everywhere.

Elliot doesn’t understand why. Or maybe it's just that Tyrell acts _overfamiliar_. Elliot doesn’t know- maybe it’s that, maybe it’s something else altogether, like how Tyrell smiles when he sees Elliot, wide and with a hint of something Elliot doesn’t recognize. It makes something twist in his stomach, something that isn’t quite discomfort.

Maybe it’s how Tyrell talks with him, as if they are friends, as if they are closer than friends, as if they share a _secret_ between them that Elliot, strangely and somehow, isn’t knowingly part of.

Or- maybe it's this; one day when Tyrell orders Elliot’s coffee for him, no milk and two sugars, like how he makes it at home- except a little more precise- and Elliot forgets to ask how Tyrell knows.

(but he doesn’t realize either, not until afterwards and the taste of it has faded to ash in his mouth)

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“Stop acting so familiar,” he snaps at some point, irritated._

_It’s getting on his nerves- getting on his caution, because Elliot is nervous and jumpy and while paranoia is_ **_good_** _, this is just on an entirely unnecessary level._

_Tyrell frowns, looks unreadable._

_He sighs, “We’re business partners, not friends.”_

_“Elliot,” Tyrell says, frowning- and he sounds rather bewildered, quite helpless. The edge of calculation is still there, of course it is._

_Unfortunately, the tone still makes him stop short for a moment. Just a moment, but Tyrell catches onto that like the shark he is and suddenly his high ground is lost._

_But even that doesn’t matter, even that can be forgotten. Here’s the thing he remembers after Tyrell is gone._

_Elliot, Tyrell had called him._ **_Elliot_** _._

 _He thinks about it, thinks about that, and he thinks about his face that is a face only Elliot sees- thinks how even_ **_that_ ** _is malleable. After all, isn’t his face just… the same?_

 _(as the thought occurs, the thought_ **_stays_ ** _)_

_Names are not things you own, names are things other people give you. And if enough people give him this name- wouldn’t he become it?_

_(isn’t he Elliot already?)_

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, my offer still stands.” Tyrell tells Elliot at some point, and Elliot’s not entirely sure how he got here, or what he’s doing here- holding a cup of tea in his hands with Tyrell opposite him, and his mind backtracks fast.

“No thank you,” he says.

He makes his escape, and pretends not to understand the confusion in Tyrell’s eyes when he presses the elevator button with as much force as wouldn’t be suspicious.

He only starts to breathe once he’s in the streets again- even though he has no idea where he is, and there’s a sinking feeling inside of him, a feeling that makes him wonder if he was drugged.

He doesn’t know if it’s better to assume he was drugged, or to start considering the other- much less inviting- option.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_But here is the keystone, here is what slots into place so simply and clearly that- well, he can’t believe he didn’t see it before._

_Everything Elliot has, he has had too. There’s an emphasis on that, because everything Elliot has,_ **_he_ ** _has. And so, by that logic, Tyrell Wellick is just as much_ **_his_ ** _as he is Elliot's._

 _He thinks on that for awhile- has to think on it awhile because he doesn’t know yet, but maybe part of him understands from the start because the assumption feels_ right _._

_And if Elliot doesn’t seem to want him, they don’t need to share._

_(he wonders whose fault that is though)_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somebody remind Elliot not to get into situations like this.

Somebody, as in _anybody_. But it’s just the two of them, and it’s long past office hours. He wonders if anybody would hear if he screamed.

Maybe they’d find his body in the morning, corpse cooled and close to rotted in the heat of summer.

His mouth forms words, and- they’re entirely not the words he needs, at this point in time. “What are you doing here?” He asks (and the hitch in his voice is maybe imagined, he hopes it is)- but Tyrell is so much taller than him, and somehow he has Elliot against a wall.

It’s a sudden throwback to their first meeting.

Except this time feels a lot more final.

He wonders, jarringly in a moment of utter disconnection, if this is when he ends up dying.

Tyrell only looks at him, blue eyes deep and unreadable before very deliberately he leans in, and then- kisses Elliot, right on the lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_The touch of skin on skin is what ends up damning him. For a moment he can’t even think let alone think straight, breath caught by the heat on his skin, the heat permeating through everything- the bond between them snaps into place like it was always there, like it was always meant to be there, as if his thumping, heavy heart has always beat for Tyrell. He’d heard of this but he had never thought- never this. Never this._

_Yes, he thinks, dazed. Tyrell Wellick is his soulmate. He’d never thought about it in a way like this before, not in a way_ **_like this_** _._

_He loses himself in it, in the feeling, in the elation and the swell of something inside him that felt so euphoric._

_Tyrell laughs, whispers Elliot’s name over and over, whispers words in languages Elliot doesn’t know, and when he drags his hands over more of Elliot’s skin, when he presses closer and the feeling in him is close to bursting, Elliot lets him._

 

 

* * *

 

 

He forgets things, sometimes

He doesn’t realize he forgets, not until someone asks him about- _last night, remember_? And he thinks he does but then he really thinks about it and- there’s nothing.

There’s nothing, and he gets home and he grips the rim of the white sink and looks himself in the face, in the mirror, and wonders what else he has forgotten without knowing it. There _must_ be something, something important he has forgotten, something terribly, terribly important.

He knows there is- otherwise he wouldn’t be so fixated on the fact. His subconscious is telling him this, is telling him- _there’s something you need to know, there’s something you’ve lost_.

(he wakes up in the night, gasping for breath, eyes wide and heart thumping and there’s the shadow of a kiss on his mouth)

 

 

* * *

 

 

Elliot _, Tyrell says._ Elliot _, and it is his name. He likes the sound of it, the note of worship that bleeds into the vowels whenever the man is unaware, he imagines how it would taste when he swallows it from Tyrell’s soft lips._

_He thinks- sometimes, for barely more than a moment- that this is something he has not known before, that this is something Elliot has not known before, that he is different because of it, he has changed._

_(he is not what he was, and he can’t quite put his finger on that- something has changed, in the inner workings of him, in all the lines of code and the imprints of the dead he’s made from, but maybe this was only his nature all along, and he’s only just discovered it)_

_Elliot, Tyrell says, and nothing else starts to matter._

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You've found yours, haven't you," he asks Darlene. She stares at him.

"Yes, I have," she says, like it's obvious, and maybe it should be. Maybe it is.

"... Who?" He asks, and is at a complete loss.

Darlene stares at him for a moment, before she sighs and glances meaningfully towards Trenton, working on something in the corner, brows furrowed in concentration. Aside from the meaningful glare she sends Elliot, Darlene’s gaze lingers on the girl a moment longer than is maybe necessary. It takes Elliot a little longer than that to make the connection.

"Oh."

“Yeah,” she tells him, halfway to sardonic, and Elliot wonders how he did not see it before.

When he goes home that night he curls up in the space between his bed and the dresser, and the ache inside him is a different ache that he does not know how to name.

It hurts, he thinks, the only descriptive that fits. There’s something in him- some part of him, that _hurts_ , and he does not understand _why_.

He considers the next day, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, maybe finally starting to get pills for it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_He’s forgetting himself, slowly, surely, lost in the nooks and crannies of everything he is, with Tyrell’s eyes gazing at him, blue and breathtaking and the look in them- the look them that makes his breath catch in his throat, makes him want to do things he’s never thought of before._

_(he looks in the mirror after Tyrell leaves, and it is his reflection that stares back, pale and cold and the bags under his eyes deeper than what they used to be)_

_(it is his reflection)_

_(it always has been)_

_Things have blurred together. He doesn’t remember what he used to be- he doesn’t know what he came from. But he was always what he wanted to be, and now- well, something is different, something has changed, and everything is still the same._

_(he is everything he was, and he is everything Tyrell has unknowingly made him become)_

_The trigger to the end of the world will come soon, and he will be the creator of the new age._

_Maybe that age will even let him keep Tyrell Wellick._

_(but who is he kidding- he_ **_has_ ** _Tyrell Wellick, he won’t let anything take that man away from him)_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _What if_ \- he wonders, not just once.

What if, and the thought is tantalizing, a wish that floats and is gobbled up by the lines of code, the internal logic weaving a murmur that tells him, harsh and hard and angles digging: ‘you cannot’.

But he- there is an image of him, somehow, in his mind. In Elliot’s mind. An image of pale hair and blue blue eyes and a smile that makes something in his heart tighten until he can’t breathe and he’s suffocating on it.

He closes his eyes, tightens his left hand into a fist, and when the suffocation gets too much the bubble releases all at once, and he is gasping, grasping at something for support, trying to breathe, trying to get the oxygen into his lungs and everything is fine again.

Everything is fine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“When are you going to tell me?”_

_“Soon.”_

_“Then tell me now.”_

_There is a pleading note to that, a bewildered hint of hurt- do you not trust me, the question that lies unnamed in the air._

_Instead of doing as Tyrell wishes, he moves forward. He can think of more than one method of distraction, and it’s not like it would be an unpleasant one._

_Elliot, is the name inscribed onto Tyrell’s throat, and when he touches it he can feel the pulse of blood underneath his fingers, the sweat starting to form and the accelerated beat. It’s something instinctive in him, something deep that compels him to lean forwards, tilt his head down and press his lips against the spot, openmouthed, letting his teeth sink into the pale white flesh. And Tyrell- maybe this is the most surprising thing, Tyrell lets him- he lets his hand fall against Elliot’s back, presses the other to the wall._

_The sensation of the bond between them is less overwhelming now- but still no less pleasurable, no less wondrous._

_He can taste the salt on Tyrell’s skin, the bitter of the businessman’s cologne, and the scent of it is intoxicating, the scent of it makes him want to do things to Tyrell that should_ **_not_ ** _be pictured so clearly in his mind’s eye._

_(as a matter of fact, it makes him think of fucking Tyrell in this office, bending him over that desk regardless of the half finished papers, tightening his hands in that meticulously combed hair and dragging his head up, making Tyrell look at his reflection in the translucent glass. He thinks he’d keep Tyrell from his orgasm, suck him off long and slow afterwards, until Tyrell was an incoherent mess begging him for release.)_

_Instead of all that, he inhales another deep breath of Tyrell’s scent and pulls back- and if his trousers are tighter than they were before, he ignores it._

_Tyrell’s gaze is unfocused, almost hazy as he looks at Elliot, and the pink flush that dusts his cheeks is terribly sweet._

 

 

* * *

 

 

He wonders, in a sudden fit of nameless terror that grips him from the inside- does he even has a choice-?

(did he ever have a choice?)

 

 

* * *

 

 

_His name is carved in ink on Tyrell’s skin. Carved into his bones, and it makes Elliot relieved for some reason._

_They are destined for each other, and in the brokenness of the universe there was at least this- there was this one thing that made sense._

_It’s the one rule, the first principle, the thing on which all other things were based._

_He does not need to think to know it true._

 

 

* * *

 

 

He unlatches the lock, reaches for the gun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What are you doing?”

He frowns, drops the warm metal in his hand back into the machine- it goes with a loud crackle of popcorn, and after a moment the thump of fear and anticipation in his heart fades, and he finds a cup instead and shovels popcorn into it. He’d barely caught himself, it appeared.

Keeping that guy in the dark really _was_ troublesome. He presses two fingers together, looks with distaste as they come away sticky. And now he’d thought salted popcorn wasn’t meant to stick.

“Popcorn?” He offers when he turns back, and Tyrell barely indulges Elliot by twisting around and eyeing the box of popcorn with distaste. The man doesn’t bother with a reply. Elliot shrugs, pops a kernel in his mouth.

Tyrell has turned back and is scrolling past lines of code- even though it makes no difference at this point. Elliot can almost see the glimmer in his eyes, bright and proud and not quite in reality.

It’s rather charming, all this excitement that’s rolling off Tyrell in waves.

“We did it,” Tyrell murmurs, not quite to himself. His native accent seeps through a little more when he’s like this, apparently. He’s Swedish, Elliot remembers- he’d looked it up at some point, too curious not to. Elliot flicks another piece of popcorn into his mouth, before swallowing with a grimace. Too much salt.

“Yeah, everything’s going as planned.” He can’t help the smile that pulls on his lips, even if Tyrell seems way too caught up in what is just the **beginning**.

Or maybe it’s the symbolism of it all.

When he walks forward so he’s next to Tyrell, the man doesn’t stop looking at the monitor, eyes tracking the screen.

“Enjoying the effects of the code you wrote?“ He asks, licking his fingers clean of the salt, “Something’ll probably pop up in an hour or so on the news. You should check then.”

When Tyrell turns to look at him- to really look at him, his eyes are shining, they find Elliot’s own and there is something in them Elliot can’t quite name.

But for a moment there he just blinks, is startled. In the darkness of the room, he realizes Tyrell’s eyes are brighter than anything else, a vivid blue that knocks some of the air from his lungs- even if Tyrell doesn’t seem to notice it as he babbles something unheard by Elliot in the stale air.

(he remembers when they first met, and the blue of Tyrell’s eyes- hadn’t they been bluer than the sky outside, then?)

(but they shine now, unnaturally in the darkness, like the glow of a monitor come to life, somehow realer than that, the only thing **real** in this reality- and Elliot thinks he falls a little more in love)

By the time Tyrell is finished and Elliot is back in reality, the man has started inadvertently gesturing, eyes wide and bright as he waits for Elliot’s reply- as if some part of him is caught up on pleasing Elliot, on earning his approval.

But it’s not exactly an appropriate thought that crosses his mind at this point. The man is still wide-eyed, his lips just slightly parted- and. Really, doesn't Tyrell know how he **looks** right now; he looks like he could be eaten alive, just like that. It’s quite an appealing thought. And while he hasn’t heard enough of the one-sided conversation to reply, he’s gotten enough of the gist to feel a burst of something in his chest that has to be pride, has to be love.

He’s overcome by that, suddenly- overcome by the want to show that to Tyrell, to express everything he suddenly cannot find words for.

The hand he reaches out drags through Tyrell's hair, before he pulls him in, before he presses his lips to Tyrell’s in a kiss.

The man stiffens- he can **feel** it, the moment when Tyrell’s brain blanks out, how he instinctively seems to sink into the kiss. And then the moment after when Tyrell’s mind catches up and the man automatically tries to dominate the kiss instead, possessive and heated, hands reaching out and fisting in Elliot’s clothing.

Unfortunately for him, he fails.

Elliot holds him still as he kisses him, slow and gentle and just the barest hint of teeth- the animal in him wants to bite down, taste Tyrell’s blood on his tongue, thick and bitter and warm.

He resists the urge, resists the image of Tyrell staring at him in a daze, blood running from his lip to his chin, staining his pretty mouth red. Later, he thinks. Patience is always rewarded.

Maybe it’s the hold he has in Tyrell’s hair, the roughness, or maybe it’s just the sensation from their skin touching- but after it’s clear **who** is dominating the kiss, Tyrell seems to melt into Elliot just like that, sinks into the embrace and even lets out a small moan.

Seriously, that moan does things to people.

When he pulls back to take a look at his work Tyrell's lips are a bruised purple, his hair is messy and he leans forward for Elliot before catching himself. He looks more like a kid than a businessman, his pupils blown and his cheeks flushed and everything about him vulnerable. Vulnerability is a good look on him.

Elliot laughs, and leans back in.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> well, one man’s happiness is another’s tragedy  
> (bye elliot)
> 
>  
> 
> so you know i live for comments and i will reply to them so  
> =D  
> (if you liked it, pretty pretty please leave a kudos? kudos makes me feel appreciated =D =D)


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